No Tears
by Trilliah
Summary: Just a little fic I wrote at one in the morning. Frodo must deal with the impending darkness of his quest. Sam helps him. Rated PG-13 for some violence. *No Slash*


Title: No Tears

Author: Trilliah

Genre: Drama/Angst/Horror

Rating: R for violence

Characters: Frodo Sam

Feedback: Oooooof course. :) 

Disclaimer: They're not mine! Honest! I'm not making any money from them, either! Please don't sue!!

* * *

I hardly know sleep from awake, anymore. 

Sometimes I dream, and I'm so certain it's real I can barely distinguish reality. It's times like this I feel I will certainly go mad. I would, too, if not for him. 

Sometimes I slip into delusion even when I'm awake, as we're trudging through the barren wilderness that has been our home since our escape from the tower. Only when I stumble do I realize I've slipped into a living dream, a waking sleep. And ah, how I wish I could return to it sometimes; for even the worst of nightmares don't compare to the horror of this reality.

"Mr. Frodo?"

I shake my head blearily, trying to clear my thoughts as I look to my companion. His warm brown eyes are upon me, concern written plain as day across his face. 

"Yes, Sam?" I manage, the words stumbling clumsily from my parched and swollen tongue. 

Sam blinks quickly a few times, as though his eyes were bothering him. And somehow I know, if there were enough moisture within him, there would be tears streaming down his face.

"I…it's about time we stopped for tonight, Frodo," he said gently. I nod blearily, and drop my pack where I stand, weaving to and fro a bit. Sam lowers his eyelids slowly, passing a hand over his brow, and says "Mr. Frodo…not right here. Over there, by those rocks, see? That way we'll have…some protection."

I stifle rueful noise deep within me. Protection is something we can never truly find in this hellish place; the very thought is laughable. However, I turn towards the aforementioned boulders, and nod wearily. I stoop down, reaching for my pack again but as I do, I notice my hands shaking violently, and pause to watch, confused. 

Shaking…shaking. Tired. Oh, yes…so tired…

And then I'm in Sam's arms, one arm drawn about his shoulder, his rough hand clasping my wrist, his other arm about my waist. 

"Come on, then, Frodo," he murmurs in my ear, half leading, half dragging me to the meager shelter of the rocks. He lowers me gently to the ground, pillowing my head with his own cloak, then turns to retrieve my pack. I watch him through half-lidded eyes, his figure blurring and shifting before me. So strange…

He returns, and pulls our only water skin from his pouch. 

"Mr. Frodo, you must try and drink something, now," he tells me, his voice trembling, though from emotion or pure exhaustion I cannot say. 

I moan, the thought of water too foreign to even register with my deluded mind. All I know is I will have to move, and that…that's bad. No, I don't want to, don't make me…

"Mr. Frodo, please," he says, his voice breaking a little. I look up at him—he's leaning over me now, cradling my head with one hand as he holds the water skin to my cracked lips. I see the anguish in his eyes, the silent and desperate plea—that jolts me to myself a bit, for I cannot bear to see him so pained…and I reluctantly open my lips a fraction.

His sigh of relief is very nearly a sob; he gently prods the nozzle between my lips and urges me to drink. I try, I really do, but the best I can manage is a few sips…

…or is it because that's all there was to begin with?

I watch with growing concern as Sam replaces the water-skin: I can tell by how he's folded it that it's now empty.

"Sam?" I murmur, raising my head a little. "What about…?"

Sam turns at the sound of my voice, leaning close to hear my slurred, barely audible speech. 

"What's that, Mr. Frodo?" he asks gently. "What about what?"

Deep breath, slight frown, "…you?"

Sam's head pulls away from mine quickly; even in the growing gloom I can see he's shaking it. 

"Now, Mr. Frodo, that's naught for you to be worrying about," he says, the tone of his voice clearly asserting that the conversation is finished. 

I frown. "But…"

"Mr. Frodo, we've still a ways to go yet, you'd best be getting what rest you can," he says stoutly, cutting me off. "I'll keep watch, sir, you rest as well as you're able."

With that, he moves away from me a little, resting his back against the rocks and gazing blankly out into the barren night.

I frown again, a little stung at his demeanor, but more concerned with his self-denial. He can't go on like this, without water, any more than I can…

But try as I might, I can't get my mouth to form any more words of protest. It merely hangs open a moment, my tongue lolling about loosely, before my head drops back and I drop swiftly into darkness.

* * *

I awaken suddenly to the sounds of shouting. Sitting bolt upright, I look around, my grogginess vanishing as panic grows within my breast. At first my eyes can make nothing of the darkness, but soon I realize there are black figures around me, shapes moving in the shadows, and the air is filled with snarls and curses. I gasp as my eyes adjust, gaping at the dark eyes leering down at me.

Orcs…

"Nar, here's another 'un!" the figure before me growls. "Looks like our little friend wasn't tellin' us the truth when he said he's the only one!"

My captor returns his twisted gaze to me, jeering a little as he gives me a little kick. "Up, you!"

I gasp, then moan, the pain at the abuse too much for my battered body to handle. I can't get up, oh I can't, I can't…

"I said *UP*!"

There's a hand in my hair, and suddenly I am up—searing pain shooting through my scalp and my spine. I desperately scramble to support myself—this agony is too much to bear—but find I've been lifted straight off the ground. I cry out pitifully, beating at my captor's arm with weak fists as my face scrunches up in pain and my vision blurs. But there are no tears…never tears…

Suddenly, I hear a familiar voice, recognizable even though it is ragged with pain. "Let him go, you brute! *Let* *him* *go*!"

Sam…?

The orc holding me laughs, and drops me. I fall to my knees, but immediately scramble to my feet lest my captor decide to pick me up by my hair again. I gasp as my vision clears a bit, and find I am surrounded. A little ways off I can see Sam…he is being held by the collar of his shirt, a dagger held against his throat…and even from here I can see the bruises standing out on his flesh, the dried blood at his hairline.

Oh, Sam…what have they done to you…?

"This one doesn't have the ring," the orc holding Sam informs my captor, who was apparently in charge. "So it must be with the other 'un."

I am roughly, rudely searched, but to no avail—they find nothing. I hear Sam's cries in the background, pleading with them to leave me be. He even tries telling them he himself bears the ring, though I know as well as he does his bluff is worth nothing. They know he does not have it…but why they did not find it on me is a mystery.

My captor glares at me for a long moment, then walks over to Sam. Grabbing my friend roughly by the hair, he drags him over until he's right in front of me. Then, gripping him around the neck with one arm and by the hair with his other hand, he says, "You tell me where the ring is or I break his neck right now."

Sam's eyes widen in horror, but not for fear of his own safety. "No, no, Mr. Frodo, don't do it! I'm not worth that sir, don't! Don't tell them, don't tell them!"

"Shut up, you!" the orc captain yells, slapping Sam across the face with one clawed hand. Sam valiantly holds back his cry of pain, but I see the trails of blood leaking from the new gash in his cheek. 

"Now tell us, *now*!" he growls, his face inches from mine, and begins to tighten his grip around Sam's neck. I watch in horror as Sam's mouth works soundlessly, desperately trying to draw breath, but to no avail…then as his face begins to turn blue, his eyes rolling back into his head…

"No, no, stop!" I sob, dropping to my knees. "I…I'll give it to you!"

The orc loosens his grip enough for Sam to draw a gasping breath; he's watching me, his head shaking almost imperceptibly, his eyes full of horror and despair as I reach within my jacket and pull out the chain.

The ring gleams even in the darkness, and I see the orc's eyes fill with lust. He lunges and grabs the chain, gazing at the tiny golden trinket for a long moment before pocketing it.

My eyes blur again. "Now let him go," I whisper, my lip trembling.

The orc watches me for a long moment, then grins. I realize my mistake immediately, and lunge forward, a strangled "No!" in my throat…

But I am too late. The orc tightens his grip on Sam's neck and yanks his hair back, twisting Sam's neck at an angle, and I feel as much as hear the sickening *snap* as Sam's body goes rigid, then suddenly limp…

"NOOOOOO!!!" 

Sam falls slowly, dropping first to his knees and lingering a moment before crumpling to the dirt in a broken, pathetic heap. 

I fall to my knees before him, reaching out with trembling hands but somehow unable to actually touch him, to make this nightmare a reality…

I hear the orcs beginning to move away, vaguely aware of the captain ordering them to leave me—they know, somehow, that being left with Sam's lifeless body is worse than any torment even they could devise.

I bow my head. Oh, how cruel this was—why could they have not killed me outright? They left me here with him like this…with…

"Uunnnnnggghhhh…"

It takes me a moment to realize the unearthly sound had issued from my own lips. I reach out, finally touching Sam, first lightly on his shoulder then desperately, searching for some sign of life in that still, cold body…

I roll him onto his back, then immediately wish I hadn't. His face is caught in a frozen scream, his jaw slack, his eyes wide. His neck is still bent at an impossible angle, but other than that he looks like he's merely frozen, not actually…

…dead…

Oh, *Eru*…how could this have happened?

And then I'm sobbing, my face buried in his too-still chest, my frail body wracking helplessly as the full blow of my loss washes over me.

"Sam," I sob over and over again. "I'm sorry, Sam, I'm sorry…ah Eru! I'm so sorry…!"

I am alone…alone…

I sit back on my knees, still sobbing, and draw a great gasping breath:

"SAAAAAM!!!"

* * *

"FRODO!!!"

The gasp tears through me as my eyes snap open, my limbs flailing as I desperately try to get my bearings.

Dark. It's still dark. And silent. No orcs…nothing…

…except…

"Sam?" 

The whisper barely escapes my trembling lips, but it's enough; he hears it. He's there, leaning over me with a desperately anxious look on his face. As he realizes I've recognized him, it melts swiftly into relief and with a sob of his own, he pulls me into his arms.

For a few long moments, I'm too stunned to move; all I can do is sit and absorb his warmth around me, his gasping breaths in my ear…*alive*…

Ah, Eru…

And then I'm holding him, clutching him with more strength than I would have though possible, my ragged sobs no less heartrending for the fact there are no tears to accompany them. I think the strength of my grip surprised him too, for he freezes momentarily as I grasp him desperately, but then he recovers, pulling me closer still. I press my face against his neck, breathing deeply of his cherished and *living* scent, sobbing and shaking and gasping…

"Frodo, Frodo," he murmurs again and again, rocking me gently and stroking my hair with his trembling hand.

I finally still, but I do not release him from my vise-like grip. He doesn't resist or try to pull away, but merely lets me hold him. He understands, I think.

"Do you want to talk about it?" he murmurs gently.

Making a small, choked noise in the back of my throat, I shake my head vehemently. He nods once, breaking my grip only enough to pull back and kiss my forehead gently. Then I'm in his arms again, and he's cradling me in his lap, pressing my head to his chest as he leans against the slope of the stone behind us. I think, somehow, he knows that listening to his heartbeat is an immeasurable comfort to me… 

I choke back another sob, the horror of the dream still too real, more real than any normal dream could ever be. Its grasping tendrils curl around my heart even as I sit, wide-awake, trembling as I huddle against Sam… 

It is all to real in that it could happen at any moment.  If we are cornered in this vast wasteland, there will be no way to stop it, no way to run or to hide…

*No way for me to protect him…*

I whimper a little, and he seems to notice that it's different from before. He pulls away enough to look into my face, his expression one of deep concern. And I, I can only gaze back at him helplessly, my heart shining plainly through my eyes.

*Oh, I should have left him behind…if he dies out here…*

"Stop that, Frodo."

My eyes widen momentarily—how did he know?—until I realize I had spoken the last out loud. I want to look away, look down, look anywhere but into those burning brown eyes, but I can't, I can't…

"Frodo," he says, so softly I almost can't hear him, but very firmly. "I wanted to come with you. I chose to, Frodo. I'm here to take care of you, and I will. *Not* because I'm your servant. It had nothing to do with duty, or service. I came because I love you, because you're my best friend and because I *won't* see you facing this darkness alone."

"But Sam," I whisper, "who is going to take care of you? When this darkness…becomes too much for me…who will be there for you? I honestly can't abide the thought of anything…happening to you." I choke briefly, closing my eyes against the images that suggestion brings to mind. I think back to before, when he'd given me the last of the water without a thought to himself…involuntarily, my arms tighten around him. "I can't, I can't do this, Sam…I can't lose you…"

I feel him sigh. He makes no promises that I won't lose him, and I know he knows very well it's quite a possible—even likely—scenario. But after a moment he places my hand very gently under my chin and lifts my face to meet his gaze.

"Frodo," he said, "I don't know how this is going to end. I can't say what will happen next any more than you can. But I do know this." He leaned a little bit closer, his gaze burning into my soul. "I promised not to leave you. I stick by my promises. And if something does happen to me…" I shudder at the prospect, and he reaches up to brush away a stray lock of hair from where it has fallen into my eyes. "Know I will always be with you," he finishes in a whisper, "and that I wouldn't have it any other way."

I close my eyes against the emotions this simple statement causes to well within me. And somehow, I feel the pain begin to lessen. The dream begins to drift and break into fragments, and as I settle back into Sam's arms and listen to the beating of his heart, and the steady sound of his breathing, it finally vanishes completely. I yawn and curl more tightly into his embrace, feeling, for the first time in a long time, at peace.

And for the first time in a long time I no longer need tears to shed.

* * *


End file.
